


Find Your Comfort In Me

by redheadgirl



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-08 20:25:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12872340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redheadgirl/pseuds/redheadgirl
Summary: In their first full season with the San Diego Padres, both Livan and Ginny face challenges that are nearly impossible to withstand on their own. Fortunately, they aren't alone.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Ginny tells it like it is](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9850547) by [redheadgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redheadgirl/pseuds/redheadgirl). 



> This is a stand alone, but there are references to my story Ginny Tells It Like It Is.

It all started with their fight at the club. Ginny had just come off the dance floor with Omar and the team was lined up to give her hi-fives and fist bumps. Omar got hi-fives and fist bumps, but he also caught some flak for his dancing skills by the same guys who then insisted on learning the steps of the salsa to pick up more women.

Ginny hadn’t even sat down before Livan was in her face.  “Come with me,” he growled in her ear. Ginny gave him a look that suggested he was out of his damn mind.

“Now,” he told her. And to help her make the decision, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her in his wake as he moved towards the bar. He was betting that she wouldn’t want to cause a scene at the crowded club, where so many eyes and cell phones were on them, and sure enough, she followed him without a fight. He knew it wasn’t going to last. She wasn’t one to be lead anywhere, but he was pissed and he wasn’t one to back down from a fight. And the good Lord knew it was going to be a fight.

He pulled her into a service hallway. They weren’t completely hidden from the other patrons, but unless someone was standing behind the bar or walking past the hall close enough to see through the shadows, they would have privacy enough for this conversation.

She yanked her arm away as soon as they were out of sight. “What the hell is your problem,” she asked him. Her tone of voice made it clear that she expected an immediate apology and a damn good excuse, too.

“My problem? Oh no, I don’t have a problem. You sure as hell do, though,” he told her, his voice making it clear he was furious.

“My only problem is that you dragged me off like some sort of caveman. You’re lucky I didn’t punch you. _Never_ touch me like that again, do you understand me?” She was in his face, scowling at him like she was ready to give in and punch him anyways.

“Oh no, _mami,_ you don’t get to be angry. Not after that scene on the dance floor. What were you doing dancing with him like that?”

Ginny took a step back in shock. “You’re angry because I danced with Omar,” she asked in disbelief.

“Oh no, I’m pissed off that you were doing the salsa, the fucking salsa, with him. Do you know what that looked like?” He took a step forward, trying to use his height to intimidate.

Of course it didn’t work. You couldn’t intimidate Ginny Baker. “Be very careful what you say next,” she warned him, her voice absolutely menacing. “Very. Very. Careful.”

Somehow her warning just made his anger stronger. “I always thought you were a smart woman. But for someone so smart you sure as hell do some stupid things.”

Her mouth actually dropped open. “What are you talking about?”

“You have to be so careful with everything you do, so damn careful that you can barely breathe, but then you turn around and dance the s _alsa_ with a teammate. Don’t you know what that looks like? Even if it’s not a good salsa, it’s still something that will make everyone look at you. They’ll watch you and him and they’ll start to wonder.” He couldn’t stop his voice from rising until he was shouting at her.

She actually rose on her tiptoes so she could yell in his face. “Don’t you dare tell me who I can and can’t dance with! I can dance whatever dance I want with whomever I want, and you and everyone else can go to hell if you don’t like it. And Omar and I are great at the salsa.”

“No, you can’t do whatever you want because everyone is watching you. The entire club saw him put his hands on your hips and saw you drape yourself all over him, and now they’re all wondering the same thing. And no, you aren’t good at the salsa. Trust me, I know the salsa.”

She gave a hard shove to his chest and it rocked him back a step. “What is your problem? Are you jealous?”

Livan scowled. “What is there to be jealous of? I’m sure as hell not jealous of you and Robles,” he scoffed.

Her eyes widened. “You are. You are jealous.” She dropped to her heels and shook her head at him in disbelief.

He had grudgingly come on this team outing to a hot new club primarily because Ginny had nagged until he was willing to do anything to shut her up. Oscar’s blunt instruction to get along better with his teammates had played a part, too. But he had been in a bad mood when he walked in the door and forced team bonding, along with a couple of inadvisable shots of tequila, had him simmering in anger all night. Seeing Ginny dance with Omar pushed him right up to the edge of common sense. And then for her to act shocked, no actually _be_ shocked, that he didn’t want her to catch another wave of bad press when she had just recovered from last season’s mess was more than his miniscule remaining control could handle.

“I’ve seen nothing to be jealous of,” he told her, his lips curling up into a mocking smile. “Do you think I haven’t seen better than you out on the dance floor? I would not be seen dancing with an amateur like you.”

His cruel words brought her fury to a boiling level and her normally iron-strong restraint vanished. “What’s the matter then? Can’t get a woman of your own now? Have the rumors finally ruined your game,” she taunted.

Now it was his turn to be surprised. “What rumors?”

She looked him up and down in disgust. “Women talk and groupies talk more than most. Don’t you think word has spread about you and your…’issue’?” Her smile looked more like a snarl.

“I have no ‘issue’,” he shouted at her, his anger overwhelming the voice in his head reminding him that they were in public. “My only issue is watching you insult my heritage, my family.”

She jabbed a bony finger into his chest. “I haven’t insulted anything yet, but I’ll start now. You’re an arrogant, selfish…”

He used the back of his hand to bat her finger away. “Do you really want to call names? How about we start with you then?”

Strong arms grabbed him from behind, trapping his arms against his chest and roughly pulling him away from Ginny. The arms that wrapped around her pulled her a little deeper into the hallway and completely out of sight from the club floor. Both Livan and Ginny struggled against the restraint until Lawson stepped between them.

“Enough!” He jabbed one finger at Livan and then at Ginny. “What the fuck’s wrong with you? Do you know what’s going to happen if people find two Padres fighting in a club?” He glared at both of them until their struggles stopped. “Now what was this about?”

Livan shrugged free of Salvimini’s restraint and, after a nod from Lawson, the big man took a step back. Livan held the captain’s eyes but refused to answer. Mike turned to Ginny. “Well?”

Omar’s arms slowly released Ginny, but he stayed close, either to offer silent support or because he was afraid she was going to go after Livan again. After a minute of silence, Ginny gave a shrug. 

Lawson let out a snort. “So neither of you knows what happened or why you were arguing?” Livan raised an eyebrow and Ginny just looked at her shoes.

“Fine. Blip, take Baker home.” Ginny opened her mouth to object but quieted after Omar leaned over and murmured in her ear. Livan looked over his shoulder and saw several more players clogging the hallway, effectively blocking the entire scene from public view.

Livan refused to move out of her way and for a brief second they stood toe to toe, glaring at each other and trying to force the other to concede their ground. Then Blip shouldered his way between them and Ginny marched past, the other players scattering to get out of her way.

Livan watched her walk away, his adrenaline rush fading into a throbbing headache. “Fuck this shit,” he muttered to himself as he pushed his way through the men who were suddenly not so willing to move out of his way.

A hand on his arm jerked him to a halt and Livan already had his fist cocked back for a punch when he spun around to see Sonny. After a taut moment, Livan dropped his arm and jerked away from Sonny. The big man said nothing but when Livan continued his path towards the door, Evers was right on his heels.

Livan grit his teeth and tried to ignore his shadow. It was obvious Lawson had ordered Sonny to escort Livan out and away from Ginny and, damn that old man to hell, it was a good choice. Not only was Evers easily big enough to hold his own, Lawson knew that no catcher would ever swing at their pitcher. No matter how furious Livan was, even he couldn’t break that rule.

After what seemed like a year, Livan pushed free of the crowd and out the door onto the sidewalk. He ignored the flashing cellphones and requests for autographs that started as soon as he and Sonny were noticed. In less than two minutes, he was peeling away from the curb with a squeal of the tires, hoping that the entire team choked on his fumes.

 

***

 

It had been less than twelve hours since their fight but the team had already made it crystal clear who they blamed for it. While he had never been really close to the team, there hadn’t been any open hostility either. That had changed, literally, overnight.

He had managed to drag his hungover ass into the clubhouse in time for batting practice. He wasn’t catching, so there was no need to study batters with a pitcher. Hell, he didn’t necessarily do that even when it was his day to catch. He could have skipped batting practice, too. A month into the season and he was still batting over .300, which would have gotten him a little wiggle room in the mandatory part of batting practice. But instead of showing up just in time for the national anthem, he got in a few hours before game time to take his hits with the rest of the team. Just like Lawson, Skip, and Oscar had ‘suggested’.

A sudden quiet hit the rambunctious clubhouse when he turned the corner at crossed to the locker. He kept his expression uninterested and his body posture relaxed. After all, he knew there would be something said about the fight. Maybe it would come from Lawson, or maybe from their manager. He was curious to see if it would be a solo meeting or if he and Ginny would be chewed out together.

The noise returned to normal as the players went about their business. He grabbed his headphones out of his bag, plugged them into his phone and made his way to the weight room. He didn’t really talk to the other guys much, so it didn’t bother him when no one would even acknowledge him. In fact, it was kind of amusing in a childish way.

Three days later, it didn’t seem nearly as funny as it had at first. The only person who had said a word to him was Lawson, and that was to bitch at him, first for the argument, then for his refusal to talk about what caused it. The other players didn’t even acknowledge his existence. He hadn’t necessarily been included in conversations and pranks, but he had never been actively excluded either. A few days ago, he wouldn’t have even known the difference. He did now.

He hated it. No matter how many times he told himself he didn’t care, that he was above this junior high crap, it didn’t change how he felt. It was okay if he was the one that chose to not interact with the others; it was when they chose for him that it became an issue.

He could have blamed the whole thing on Ginny, but he didn’t. The team behavior wasn’t her fault. In fact, she was more civil to him than the rest of the team was. He and Ginny had exchanged head nods and chin bobs once a day. But it wasn’t enough. As much as he hated being ignored, he hated admitting he might, even remotely, be wrong even more.

But the more he thought about it the more the isolation began to wear on him. Even going to the bar and picking up a groupie for the night didn’t elevate the feeling. He fought against it, refused to even acknowledge what it was, but it didn’t make it dissipate like he had hoped. Instead it kept pressing on him, distracting him, until he suddenly looked around and realized he was the last one in the clubhouse after a game. Shaking his head at himself, he leaned over and quickly pulled on his shoes.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Omar plop down in Burger’s vacant chair next to him. Livan blatantly ignored him, but Omar stayed quiet, patiently waiting for Livan to acknowledge him. After several minutes, Livan couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Que?”

“You’re going to have to work it out with Ginny. Until the team sees that the two of you are good, things are only going to get worse.”

Livan bristled. “You don’t know anything.”

Omar leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “You’ve been on thin ice with the team for a while. You can’t go after a teammate’s throat, especially in public, and not expect the team to be pissed. If it was with anyone else, you might have been given a little leeway, at least until the team could figure out who was at fault. With Ginny, you’ll get none.”

“Because she’s everyone’s darling,” Livan snarled. He didn’t believe that was true for the entire team, but it made him feel better to say it anyway.

“Not at all,” Omar disagreed calmly. “There are guys on the team that only tolerate her. But she’s respected by everyone because of how she plays the game. She does things the right way, puts in her time and energy to be the best at what she does. And she’s a great teammate. You don’t do any of that.”

Livan abruptly stood and yanked his backpack out of his locker. “What’s your point,” he asked as he haphazardly shoved items in his bag.

“My point is that you need to do whatever it takes to get on Ginny’s good side again. If you can’t, you’re as good as gone from the Padres. They’ll pack your ass back to El Paso faster than you can blink.”

Livan scoffed. “They wouldn’t do that. I’m too good for them to do that. The team needs me.”

“You’re an idiot if you think they won’t send you down. If your attitude causes more problems than your game can fix, you’re a liability and you’re gone. Once it gets out to the other teams that you’re a bad teammate, no one is going to risk taking a chance on a guy that can kill team chemistry.”

Livan dropped his bag and faced Omar. “Why are you telling me this? I would think you would want me as far away from Ginny as possible, given how you feel about her.” Livan watched Omar closely for a reaction, wanting to upset the man as much as Omar was upsetting him.

Omar showed no reaction to the taunts. “Because you’re hurting Ginny, yourself, and the team. Believe it or not, I’ve been in your situation. I had a veteran step in and help me figure my shit out, so I’m offering a word of advice because you better believe no one else is going to help you.”

“You don’t know anything,” Livan scoffed.

Omar pushed out of his chair so quickly it tipped over. “Sit down and shut up. I’m risking my neck to help you out and you’re gonna listen. And then you are going to do what I tell you to because if you don’t, your ass is going to be gone and not a damn person is going to feel bad about it.”

Livan raised an eyebrow in surprise at the sudden aggression from a guy who was normally laid back. The instinctive need to fight being told what to do battled with the warning bells clamoring in his brain telling him that this was important. Livan crossed his arms and relaxed his stance. “Shouldn’t this be Lawson’s job? Or did he nominate you to talk to me?”

Omar copied his stance. “Hell yes, this is Lawson’s job. But I don’t think you’re going to hear jack from him until he calms down and, given that it’s Ginny, it might be a while. He runs a tight ship, and he can be a real jerk, but he’s a damn good captain. He’s put the good of the team before the good of himself for as long as he’s been captain. That’s why he’s been putting up with your shit. But if he decides you’re harming the team, there’s nothing that will stop him from going to the Front Office and pushing hard to get you sent down.”

Livan scoffed. “No player has that power.”

“Lawson does.” Omar’s voice was so matter of fact, so confident that Lawson’s words were law that it raised the hair on the back of Livan’s neck. Surely the Padres wouldn’t listen to an old, broken down catcher about players. Surely his opinion didn’t matter that much.

 

***

Ginny stared at the security monitor in disbelief. Livan was sitting in his car in front of her condo, talking to himself. As she watched, he said something, shook his head, started the car, said something else, and shut the car back off. Then he threw open the car door and jumped out, as if forcing himself to take action. He leaned back into the car before emerging with a covered container in his hands.

As he approached her door, she switched camera angles to observe him. He took several deep breaths as he stared at her door. He said something to himself and squared his shoulders. But just when she thought he was going to knock, he let out a sigh and shook his head. Then came another deep breath and shoulders squaring motion before he suddenly twisted to look over his shoulder at something that caught his attention. Within seconds he was pounding on her door.

When she looked out the peephole out of habit, all she could see was the covered pan that Livan was holding up. Obviously, he had brought a bribe and he was counting on it to get him in the door. Ginny unlocked the door and opened it. She just leaned against the doorframe with her arms crossed and waited for him to start explaining. As much as she wanted to slam the door in his face, her anger had softened as she watched the effort it took for him to even knock on her door and she was willing to give him a chance to speak.

“The woman two doors down is staring at me. Well, now she’s staring at you, too. Does she always do that or is she checking me out?”

Ginny looked over his shoulder and nodded coolly at the woman before motioning him into her condo. Livan was standing in her kitchen before she finished locking her door.

“What are you doing,” she asked as she watched him opening and closing her cupboard doors.

“I’m looking for plates to warm the _arroz con pollo_. You have to eat it hot or you don’t taste the full flavor.” He opened and closed several more doors before turning to her with a sigh.

“Where are your plates? I can’t find them.”

“And why should I tell you anything when you’re the one that shoved his way into my kitchen uninvited?”

Livan waved his hand at the covered dish on her stovetop. “Because I brought you food. It’s the best _arroz con pollo_  you’ll ever have. It’s my _abuela's_ recipe.” He was so completely confident in his offering that he dismissed her lack of welcome and started going through her cupboards again.

Ginny gave a subtle sniff to the aroma coming from the dish. She had to admit, it did smell amazing, but there was no way she was going to let him just walk into her condo and take over. “I’m not hungry, so how about you just leave it there and I’ll put it in the fridge later.”

“You’re always hungry,” he told her distractedly. He opened another door and stared for a moment before pulling down the huge stack of paper plates. “You don’t eat off of these, do you?”

Ginny stepped to him and yanked the stack from his hands. “Yes I use paper plates. I hate doing dishes.”

Livan looked appalled. “ _Mami,_ you can’t serve good food on paper plates. That takes the love from the dishes. Your food won’t taste as good and you’ll waste too much money on something that is just going to be thrown away. You have to save your money for important things.”

Ginny’s annoyance softened slightly. She had suspected of course, but Livan’s outrage confirmed that he had been raised in an environment with little to no money. She couldn’t imagine what his life in Cuba was like. She didn’t understand the situation in Cuba at any deeper level than what Wikipedia could provide, but she was starting to see enough glimpses into his past to form an idea of what his upbringing might have been. But that still didn’t mean she was going to put up with his shit.

“Get out of my cupboards and tell me why you’re here,” she told him.

Livan leaned his butt against her counter and crossed his arms. Then he uncrossed them and rubbed a hand against the back of his neck before he tucked both hands in his front pockets and shifted his weight slightly. He was so obviously uncomfortable that Ginny could nearly taste it.

Livan cleared his throat. “I came to apologize.” When she didn’t response he added, “For the night at the club.”

She studied him for a minute, letting the silence stretch. The longer she watched him, the more she believed that his apology was sincere. Livan had a funny quirk. As far as she could tell no one else had picked up on it but, maybe because she spent more time with him than anyone else, she found it obvious. Livan wore his emotions on his sleeve. He didn’t have a poker face. Granted, he was more subtle in his reactions, but if you looked, you could easily see what he was thinking and feeling. And right now, he was miserable.

She let out a sigh and motioned him into the living room. She sat on the loveseat, expecting him to take the adjacent sofa. Instead, he sat the pan of food down on the coffee table in front of her and plopped down next to her, their legs and arms touching as he dwarfed the furniture. She immediately shifted away from him.

“See,” he burst out, surprising her into jumping. “That’s why I hate it here.”

She blinked at him in confusion. “Then leave. I didn’t ask you to come.”

“Not _here._ I mean here, in the US,” he said vehemently.

Ginny took in his wide eyes and flushed cheeks. “Why do you hate it here,” she asked carefully.

“Because of _this._ ” He waved his hand back and forth in the space between their bodies. “Because here you can’t touch anyone, be close to anyone, no matter who they are in your life. Even families don’t touch often. It’s like you’re alone, even when you’re not alone.”

She could easily see that he was upset. But there was some emotion there that she couldn’t recognize, something that she hadn’t seen in him before. “How are things different in Cuba,” she gently prodded.

“You’re never alone. I never had siblings and after my parents left it was just my _abeula_ and I. But there were always cousins and friends, even people that had been our neighbors for longer than I’ve been alive. And sometimes you had so many people crammed in such small houses you were packed on top of each other for family celebrations. There it’s okay to sit next to people, touch them if you want. It was no big deal to hold my cousin’s hand, even though she’s twenty, or sit four guys to a sofa, or dance close together with a woman friend at a club.”

He paused to make a disgusted sound. “Here, it’s different. Families aren’t close. There are no neighborhood parties because no one knows their neighbor. And it’s not okay to touch anyone because otherwise it’s sexual. You Americans are obsessed; you think any touch has to be sexual. I mean, look at you. You’re afraid to sit on a sofa with me because you worry I’ll want you if our shoulders bump. And look at what the press does to you whenever you dance with someone. It’s just dancing! You’re supposed to touch someone, be close to them. But you’re not allowed to because if you are dancing with a teammate that means you’re having sex with them.”

He abruptly stopped talking and leaned back against the sofa cushions, his arms crossed over his muscled chest. After a moment’s hesitation, Ginny turned on the sofa to face him, sitting tailor style so she wasn’t quite touching him, but still closer than she normally allowed. “What else is different?”

He scowled at the far wall. “Baseball. Baseball is an international sport, you would think it’s all the same but it’s not. Sure the rules are mostly the same, but it’s very different here than in Cuba.”

“Give me an example,” she prodded him.

“There, everyone plays with passion. I could celebrate hitting a homerun. You would be able to celebrate a big strike out. It was okay, even expected. Why would anyone play baseball without the heart and soul it requires? But here.” He stopped, seeming to be searching for the right words. “Here it’s not okay to celebrate. Celebrating on the base path means getting hit your next at bat. It means having to apologize when you did nothing wrong! Showing any happiness at all when your team is losing is against the rules. There are so many secret rules that it’s stifling.”

Ginny didn’t respond to that because she didn’t agree and she wouldn’t offer false support to anyone. She loved the unwritten rules of baseball. These rules were passed from generation to generation and it was all based on respect and self-governance. You didn’t show anyone up or you’d get hit your next at bat. It was simple, straight forward, and solved by the players themselves.

Livan scowled at her lack of response. “You should hate it here, too. In Cuba, everyone plays baseball. Everyone. Boys, girls, young, old, it doesn’t matter. We have leagues for girls and women, too. When I was growing up, we couldn’t afford to go to the _Serie Nacional._ Instead, we went to the women’s league games. We could get in for free sometimes, and it’s still good baseball. My _abuela_ use to play, she was a pitcher on the Cuban women’s national team.” A faint smile appeared, making his dimples just visible.  “We couldn’t afford lessons with a coach, so she taught me everything. She told me I had to be either a pitcher or a catcher because she knew a lot about that, but if I wanted to play outfield I was going to have to teach myself. Of course I chose catcher.”

The smile vanished as he faced her. “Did you know there is now a woman umpire in the _Serie?_ And yet no one had a problem like they still have with you. No one accused her of being unnatural or not belonging in the game. And they sure as hell don’t follow her around with cameras, watching everything she does, telling her she can’t even dance.”

Ginny considered. “That would be nice,” she agreed quietly. The more she watched him and listened to him, the more she realized what was upsetting him, what this rant was really about. But Livan was a guy and she needed to tread carefully. It was unbelievable that he was reaching out to her and she wasn’t going to risk him shutting down.

Decision made, she slapped the side of his leg and wiggled off the sofa. “Well then, come show me how you dance.” When he just cocked an eyebrow at her, she huffed. “You said that I was terrible at the salsa and that you knew what good salsa is. Well then, come show me the difference between Cuban salsa and American salsa."

He considered her a moment before slowly rising from the sofa. “I don’t know, _mami._ You’re nervous even sitting next to me on a sofa. I don’t think you’re ready to dance with me.”

That instantly pissed her off. “I’m not afraid of you, Livan. I can kick your ass if I need to. Get over here and show me your way of dancing.” The way he grinned at her set her teeth on edge. He had played her, getting her to react for reasons known only to him. She just managed not to stomp across the room to her cell phone. She blindly pulled up the salsa playlist that she had made for her lessons with Omar.

“Not that one,” Livan immediately objected. “Not that one either,” he told her three seconds later. After the third song began he walked across the room and yanked the phone from her hand. He stiff armed her to keep her from snatching her phone back while he thumbed through the songs.

“This one.” He set the phone down on the coffee table and had her in his arms by the second measure. Ginny’s annoyance at his high-handedness disappeared under a wave of surprise.

“This is how you dance the salsa,” he told her, his breath warm against her temple. He had pulled her tight against him, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. It might have been possible to slip a piece of paper between the two of them, but that wasn’t a guarantee. She stiffened in discomfort and pulled slightly away from him, but instead of letting her go, Livan just used her motion to begin moving her around the room. Where Omar had patiently (okay, not always so patiently) worked with her until she could follow him instead of trying to lead, Livan just commanded the lead. He moved her with his body against hers, his hand on her back steering her where he wanted her to go.

Ginny had to consciously force herself to relax, to let him lead, when all of her instincts screamed at her to shove him across the room. As soon as her body relaxed into acceptance, she began to really understand what Livan meant when he said she wasn’t really dancing the salsa. When she and Omar danced together, it was flirty, fun, and teasing wrapped up in motion. Dancing the salsa with Livan was the opposite of that. It was sensual, evocative, almost erotic. Even dancing with a guy that was completely off limits for her, and someone she wouldn’t want even if he wasn’t off limits, it was hot as hell. She could feel his chest against hers as their breath quickened with their movements. She had to force herself to meet his eyes when all she wanted to do was step away and ease her discomfort.

He was looking at her with an expression she wouldn’t have thought him capable of. He had a soft smile on his face and his eyes were warm, his look almost…affectionate. “Ginny, you _should_ be a little turned on when you’re dancing it right. If you weren’t, all of my Cuban ancestors would roll in their graves, unable to rest because I shamed them with my poor dancing skills.” He gave her a wink and released her. “And when you are lucky enough to dance with someone as beautiful as me, well, you should be fanning yourself.”

A laugh bubbled out of her at his outrageous ego. She gave him a half-hearted shove and stepped away to look him up and down. She raised an eyebrow before meeting his eyes with a smirk. “And it’s okay for you to be a little turned on. You ancestors would approve.”

She debated whether to bring up the reason for his visit or just let it remain unsaid. He was still laughing and she hated the thought of ruining his good mood. She wasn’t good at these types of things, but she took a deep breath and gambled that she was doing the right thing.

“I’m sorry that you’re homesick Livan,” she told him softly.

He instantly bristled, his posture screaming insulted pride. “I’m not homesick,” he bit out.

Ginny just managed to keep herself from rolling her eyes. Stupid guys and their stupid egos. “Well then, I’m sorry things are so different from what you had thought it would be.”

For a moment, Livan dropped the mask he always wore, one of cocky self-assurance. For just a brief slip in time, she saw him vulnerable, hurting, and filled with doubt.

Without even questioning it, she stepped forward and gave him a hug. He returned it, squeezing so tightly that her ribs creaked in protest. “Everything I do here is wrong,” he whispered so softly that she had to strain to hear him. “I don’t understand the rules that everyone plays by. People are just waiting for me to fail. They all want something from me, but I don’t know if they want to help me or just use me.”

Ginny hugged him a little tighter. “It’s alright, Livan. I’ll help.”

The stood in silence, each lost in their thoughts for a minute. With a sigh Ginny released Livan and he immediately dropped his arms. “Since you’re here, do you want to eat some of the food with me? We can watch a movie or something,” she offered.

“I’ll warm it up for us,” he told her, his cockiness back in full strength. “Who knows what other ways you have to ruin it.” As he strode towards the kitchen she could hear him muttering something about paper plates under his breath.

 

*********

 

“So, is that a real place,” he asked her when the movie ended and the tear tracks had disappeared from cheeks.

“What? Heaven?”

She could feel his sigh. “No. The farm with the field.”

“Oh. Yeah, it’s in Iowa somewhere.”

“Maybe we should go there sometime. See if it really would be baseball heaven.”

Her head tipped up on his shoulder to face him. “You want to road trip to see the Field of Dreams,” she asked suspiciously.

His shrug jostled her and he pulled her back against him before answering. “Sure. I’ve got a great car. It can’t be that bad of a drive.”

He could feel her cheeks moving in a smile. “ _Papi,_ America is big. It might take us three days to get there.”

That surprised him. “Hmmm. I’m not sure I could stand you that long. Maybe we’ll fly instead.”

She smacked his hard abdomen. “I’d probably kill you before we left California.”

His chuckle mingled with her giggle. They sat in companionable silence for a while, just enjoying the moment. He tightened his arm around her shoulders and her arm squeezed his waist in response.

“What did you mean by my issue,” he blurted out. When she pulled away to look at him, he clarified. “At the bar, you said groupies talked and that I had an ‘issue’. What did you mean?”

A blush worked its way across her face and she began fiddling with the sofa pillows and cushions. “I, um, maybe have exaggerated that,” she muttered.

Livan pulled a curl until she looked at him with a scowl. “What do you mean?”

She bit her lip before giving in. “I lied, okay? I just wanted to make you angry.”

He gave her a look. “I’ve been worrying about that for three days and you made it up? Not nice, _mami,_ not nice at all.”

She stared at him a moment before shrugging. She grabbed the remote from it rested on the coffee table next to Livan’s big feet. She leaned back until she once again leaned against him, her head resting in the crook of his shoulder and his arm wrapped around her shoulders. She stretched out her legs until her feet rested alongside his on the coffee table and she began flipping channels on her tv.

He snatched the remote from her hand and began scrolling at the speed of light. “I can’t see what shows are on,” she complained, reaching to take the remote back.

“I watched your movie, fed you, and showed you the right way to salsa. The least you can do is let me control the next show we watch.”

“You’re a jerk,” she told him, wiggling down a little in the sofa.

“So are you,” he told her although his arm tightened around her to hold her snug against him. “It’s why we get along.”

He dropped the remote beside him where she couldn’t reach it and wrapped his second arm around her in a loose hold. She settled in with a sigh and prepared to watch a Scooby Doo marathon next to her first, and only, cuddle buddy.


	2. 2

It was considered common knowledge that catchers were the most observant players on a team. They had to be, of course. They were the captain of the infield, the position that was responsible for monitoring baserunners, assessing a batter’s comfort level in the box and, most importantly, reading their pitchers. They had to look for the signs, from miniscule to explosive, that let them know their pitcher’s mindset and then figure out how to manage that information to get a win. It was one of the reasons that former catchers made great coaches.

But Ginny was observant too. It was a natural talent that her father had carefully groomed as another skill to help get her into the majors. Sometimes it gave her an edge, seeing things that others didn’t notice, and that was a good thing. But occasionally she noticed things that she didn’t want to and that wasn’t such a good thing.

Everyone had seen Livan take a foul tip off his face mask when the first batter of the inning misjudged her screwball. It had knocked the old-fashioned mask off of his head with enough force that he lost his balance and his butt hit the dirt. Without a word, the batter stepped out of the box to readjust his elbow guard and the umpire made a production of pulling his little brush out of a pocket and meticulously dusting off every square inch of the plate until it looked as white as it had during pre-game.

While Ginny was aware that the umpire and batter gave Livan the respect of a minute to recover with fans being none the wiser, her eyes stayed focused on her catcher. She watched as he rapidly blinked for a couple of seconds and gave his head a quick shake before pushing up to his knees and snatching the mask off the ground. He took a moment to adjust his backwards helmet before wiggling the straps of his mask back over his head. He gave a quick nod to both the batter and ump, telling them he was ready to go and silently acknowledging their show of respect.

Two batters later, Ginny knew without a doubt that something was wrong. Livan could be a stubborn ass, but even he was too reasonable to keep insisting that she throw a change-up to a batter that had hit every single change up she had ever thrown him. Every. Damn. One. Yet, when she tried to shake him off, Livan became more insistent until she was worried that the fifteen thousand fans in attendance were going to get to see the first ever on-the-field blow up argument between a MLB pitcher and catcher. So when he flashed four fingers between his thighs again, Ginny gritted her teeth and gave a sharp nod. She changed her grip on the baseball hidden in the depths of her glove and hoped that this once the batter would miss.

He didn’t. He rocketed one into deep center that would have been a triple for anyone except the slow-footed first baseman. Ginny leaned over to grab the rosen bag, spending several seconds unnecessarily powdering her hands until she could calm her anger. With a deep breath, she settled back into her spot on the mound, her foot easily finding its groove on the rubber as she leaned in to see the sign from Livan.

Because of the runner on second, Livan flashed several signs between his legs and Ginny mentally counted until she saw the third sign and fourth location flash against Livan’s inner thigh. A single finger, knuckle bent high. With a nod of agreement, she gave a quick glance back at the runner on second, before throwing her high fastball.

Livan barely got his glove up in time to keep it from hitting him in the throat. Ginny’s eyes narrowed as Livan rose from his stance, calling for time out as he stalked to the mound before it was even granted.\

“Are you trying to kill me,” he growled at her from behind his mask.

Ginny raised her glove to hide her mouth before she answered. “You called for a high fastball. I threw a high fastball.”

Livan’s eyes narrowed. “I called for an outside screwball.”

“We agreed on third sign, fourth indicator. That was a high fastball.”

“No, it was…,” he paused to think. “I don’t remember. We’ll go first sign, first location. Maybe you’ll remember it then,” he snarled at her.

The hair on the back of her neck stood up. No one was more obsessed with preventing sign-stealing than Livan. It was a source of frustration for the entire pitching staff that he constantly changed indicators, signs, and counts until many a pitcher had been reduced to making tiny notes on their wrist to remind themselves of what signs were the real calls. It was nearly unbelievable that the paranoid jerk would suddenly switch to a count that was begging to be stolen and relayed from the guy on second. 

She studied his eyes. Maybe it was her imagination, but it didn’t seem like they were fully focused on her. He kept blinking rapidly and then, for the third time since he’d been on her mound, he rubbed his temple, just below his helmet. 

“How are you feeling,” she asked quickly, knowing that the ump was going to break up their meeting any second. “You took a hard hit. Are you okay?” 

Livan snorted. “You need to worry about your pitches, not me.” He stepped away when the ump shouted at him to get back to the plate. “And quit throwing change-ups when I call for a cutter unless you want to keep giving up hits,” he told her before walking back to his position. Just the fact that he walked instead of jogging back confirmed in her mind that Livan needed to be off the field. He had once admitted during a night of alcohol induced confessions that he always jogged on the field because a number of groupies had told him how much they loved his ass when he ran. She had snotted beer out of her nose at that one.

Ginny’s mind raced. Livan needed to be checked out by the medical staff immediately. If he had a concussion now, who knew what would happen if he took another foul ball off of the mask or, God forbid, be involved in a collision at home. But Livan was a guy, and if there was anything she had learned about guys after playing baseball since she was eight, it was that you needed to be careful with their egos. Very smart men would do very stupid things because of their egos. Livan had an ego bigger than anyone except maybe Lawson and the Lord knew she had learned to step carefully around Mike’s ego when necessary.

 Ginny shook out her pitching hand, clenching and stretching her fingers several times before rubbing it against her thigh. She leaned in for the sign and immediately shook off Livan’s request for another damn change-up. She didn’t care what was wrong with Livan besides his huge ego, there was no way she was going to give up a two run homer just because he couldn’t remember any other sign beside a change-up down the middle of the plate. Although his muscles visibly clenched in anger, he showed a different sign and she immediately nodded before he could change his mind.

 After the batter missed on her cutter, she caught Livan’s soft toss and shook out her hand again, stopping to examine the side as if looking for a mark, before clenching and stretching her fingers again. If she had been throwing to Mike, he would have been at the mound demanding answers the instant she had shaken out her hand after the pitch. But Livan, even before his injury, was still a little slow on the subtle signs a pitcher gave and it took one more pitch before he asked for time and crossed the grass between them, his mask already raised and his eyes focused on her hand.

 “What’s wrong?”

 “Nothing,” she told him, knowing he wouldn’t believe her anymore than Lawson would have.

 Lawson would have tried to pry it out of her at least once more, but Livan didn’t waste his breath. While holding eye contact with her, he raised his arm at the Padres dugout, motioning for the skipper to come out. Even though she had purposely made him question her ability to safely throw, even _knowing_ she wasn’t hurt, she still glared at him for so quickly selling her out to management.

 “Too bad,” Livan told her, recognizing her glare for what it was. “If you’re hurt, or even possibly hurt, you leave. You go get it checked out so a little injury doesn’t become a big injury.”

 The corner of her mouth quirked upwards but before she could reply, a party arrived from the dugout. It should have been just Lu and the head athletic trainer Ed; that was what would normally happen if a pitcher was hurt. But the skipper led a small parade of both Ed and his assistant Rita, the pitching coach, and the bench coach as well, just for fun. Ginny could feel a blush rising at the unnecessary attention a potential injury for her brought when none of the other pitchers would have caused this much response.

 “Are you hurt,” Lu asked, not beating around the bush.

 “It’s nothing big, I can finish the game. I have pins and needles along the outside of my hand and my pinkie finger. I’ll be fine,” she reassured him. She had carefully chosen something that most pitchers experienced at some time during the season. It was usually nothing more than a little extra inflammation in the elbow and required only more ice bag sessions to completely resolve.

 All eyes turned to Ed and he shouldered his way to her side and started examining her arm. She waited until the group was silently staring at her hand before speaking.

 “Livan has a concussion,” she reported without an iota of guilt about betraying her catcher. “He can’t focus on me or remember our signs.”

 As one, all eyes turned from her hand to Livan. He was so surprised he actually took a step back before narrowing his eyes at her. “She’s wrong,” he reassured the staff. “She must be distracted by the pain. I’m fine.”

 “You know I’m right,” she told him. “You need to be checked out.” And because she couldn’t stop herself, she added, “If you’re hurt, or even possibly hurt, you leave.”

 Livan took a step towards her. “Don’t you dare..,” he began.

 “Both of you need to be checked out,” Lu told them, his tone ending all objections. “Get into the trainer’s room.” Before either player could object, the skipper turned to the bullpen and tapped his left arm. The Padres’ only southpaw reliever immediately rose from the bench and grabbed his glove, already starting his stretches as he moved towards the bullpen door.

 The fans stood and applauded as both players left the field, their worried murmurs loud in Ginny’s ears. She reminded herself that she had done it for the right reasons, that the fans would be relieved to hear that she was fine, but she still felt a stab of guilt as she moved down the dugout steps. The guilt deepened as the Padres players patted her on the back as she moved towards the clubhouse tunnel, their concerned reassurances weighing on her conscious. Lawson paused in tugging on his catching gear to give her a furrowed brow look that she knew meant he was worried about her but didn’t want her to know.

 Livan never said a word, not to her or their teammates, but his anger radiated from him in invisible waves. She thought about trying to talk to him but quickly decided to give him some time to calm down. Surely after he talked to the medical staff he’d understand she did the right thing.

 

 *************

 

Two days later Livan was still actively avoiding Ginny. He didn’t answer her calls or return her texts. His house was behind a security fence, but in a moment of insanity he had given Ginny the gate code so he kept his lights off, hoping that if she drove by she would think he wasn’t home. Well, perhaps keeping the lights off wasn’t completely for her. It might have been due to the gut-wrenching headache that had started a couple of hours after he was officially diagnosed with a concussion and put on the 7-day protocol list. He stayed at home, only answering the phone when the medical staff called to check in on him.

 His bad mood didn’t get any better when the manager picks for the All-Star teams were announced and he wasn’t on the list. Of course the fan voting had gone to big market teams like the Dodgers and the Mets, or the teams with rabid fan bases like the Cubs and Cardinals. Some of their picks he even agreed with. What he didn’t agree with the Padres sending two players and neither one of them being him. Blip was voted in after a huge press campaign highlighting his career year and replays of the centerfielder making the best defensive play Livan had ever seen. Even Livan could admit that the guy deserved it this year. What had him sitting in the dark drinking beer by himself was that Lawson had been one of the manager’s pick. Livan had better stats than Lawson; his batting average and throw out rate were far better. Why did it matter that Lawson was still catching 65% of the games? Livan’s numbers were better and he didn’t give a damn about the “intangibles” that everyone kept talking about.

 His phone alerted and a quick finger swipe showed him that MLB had just announced the results of the Final Vote. He stared at the screen, stunned by the numbers. She didn’t get it. Ginny wasn’t voted in. When she was announced as one of the three finalists he had assumed she was a shoe in, as had most people around MLB. After all, that’s how she had made her first All-Star game. But for reasons he couldn’t even imagine, she had just lost the popularity contest.

 His phone buzzed again with back to back alerts that made it sound like his phone had the hiccups.The first was the automatic alert he had set to notify him whenever his security gate opened. The second was a text from Ginny telling him that if he didn’t open his front door immediately she was going to do it for him. He made it to his entryway just in time to hear the tumblers click into place and watch the door swing open.

 “How the hell did you get a key,” Livan asked, not nearly as surprised as what he should have been.

 “I made a copy,” Ginny said as she brushed past him, juggling an arm full of bags.

 He locked the front door and leaned against it, watching Ginny drop the bags on the floor and begin sorting through them. Of course she had made a copy. He didn’t even know why he asked these questions. It didn’t surprise him anymore, all the things that she could get away with. “What are you doing here?”

 “I brought you food and beer. I figure you hadn’t gone out to the grocery store, so you’ll want your junk food,” she answered, her hair hiding her face as she searched through another bag.

 “I had some delivered,” he told her curtly. Yeah, most of his anger had cooled, but that didn’t mean he was happy she had forced her way into his house either.

 “No you didn’t,” she argued without raising her head. “You don’t let strangers inside your gates.”

 Her phone rang and she had to rummage through several bags before she could find it. She glanced at the screen and slowly stood up, looking uncharacteristically hesitant before answering it.

 “Hello.” Livan raised an eyebrow at her flat tone. He could have given her privacy for what looked to be an uncomfortable phone call, but instead he moved closer and started going through the bags to see what she had brought. If she didn’t want to him to hear, she could get out of his house.

 “Yeah, I’ve seen them. I’ve had people blowing up my phone telling me about them. And, of course, it’s the top trending story on Twitter right now.”

 She listened for a moment. “So is it true,” she asked. Another pause. “Do you really think I’m going to be okay with this? That I’m going to forgive and forget?”

 Livan slowly rose and moved to stand in front of Ginny. He could see the agitation in her body movements, and sure enough, her eyebrows drew down into a frown. For some stupid reason, he had the impulse to snatch the phone from her hand, make a few threats to whomever was on the other end, and dump the phone outside in the mud for the rest of the day. But he knew she would kill him for that, for trying to take over her life, so he suppressed the urge and just watched.

 “You know what, that’s not my problem. How about you have your publicist call mine and they can figure it out. Until then, I guess you’ll have to wait and see like the rest of the world.” And with that, she stabbed her finger onto the screen to end the call. She pulled back her arm, ready to throw the phone across the room, but Livan quickly snatched it from her hand and shoved it in his back pocket.

 “Who was that,” he demanded.

 “I don’t want to talk about it,” she bit out, turning away and walking towards his game room.

 He was right on her heels. “Too bad. Talk about it anyways.”

 She spun around and jabbed a finger in his chest. “Okay, you want to know? That was my boyfriend. Or I guess I should say my ex-boyfriend,” she snarled at him.

 Livan raised an eyebrow, trying to look unconcerned when in reality alarm bells were ringing in his mind. This wasn’t good. “The singer?”

 “Musician,” she corrected automatically. “And yes, that’s the asshole.”

 When she tried to walk away, he grabbed her hand and held her still. He half expected her to hit him, but instead it seemed as if the anger all drained out of her. “He cheated on me,” she said quietly. “Pictures popped up all over Twitter and the gossip sites of him leaving the club in a limo with a woman draped all over him. It’s the same one that was leaving his room the next morning. And instead of groveling and begging my forgiveness, he just told me it was one of those things that sometimes happens to musicians. Then he demanded to know what I was going to say about him on Twitter.”

 Uh oh. Livan’s chest tightened, partially in fear -it was never safe to be around a scorned woman- and partially in sympathy. He had only been cheated on once, but it was a terrible feeling, a helpless feeling. He wanted no part of this situation, but she was here and obviously needed a friend, so he stepped up. “Do you want me to break his legs or have him killed,” he asked.

 Ginny’s jaw dropped. “Neither. No wait, both.” She paused to consider for a moment, the look on her face convincing Livan that he was going to have to scout burial locations. “Maybe break both legs, kill him, bury him, and then dig him up so we can kill him again?”

 Livan spun on his heel and headed towards the kitchen, snagging the bags of groceries on the way. “Come on, we’re going to need alcohol for this. And my hitman’s phone number is hidden in the freezer.”

 “You are joking, right,” she asked, trailing behind him.

 When he held his silence, she muttered, “Please tell me you’re joking. No, you know what? Don’t. That way I can’t be implicated in anything.”

 Livan rolled his eyes, but kept quiet until he set the bags onto the marble countertops in his kitchen. “Fine. I won’t tell you.”

 Ginny dropped into the chair with a groan. “Why are you like this?”

 “Like what,” he asked as he rummaged through his fridge. “Smart? Beautiful? Perfect?” He turned to set several bottles on the island, followed immediately by glasses.

 “Obnoxious,” she corrected. “So it’s a hard liquor night?”

 “Every night is a hard liquor night,” he said. “But there’s nothing rum can’t cure, so pick your medicine.”

 “You have four different types of rum in your fridge?”

 “I’m Cuban,” he said with a shrug. Deciding on a bottle, he poured a hefty amount of the spiced rum into a glass and followed it up with a splash of cola before sliding it to her. She waited until he had poured himself one before toasting him and chugging it.

 He shook his head at her as she choked and gasped. “That’s a thousand dollar bottle of rum you just insulted. This is meant to be sipped and appreciated. If you just want to get drunk, I’ll get you something cheaper.”

 Ginny wheezed. “How can you sip that?”

 Livan glared as he handed her a glass of water. “With gratitude.”

 Ginny smiled sheepishly. “I’ll be more respectful this time. Promise.”

 He narrowed his eyes at her in suspicion. “I can’t tell if you’re sincere. If you can’t appreciate good Cuban rum, I’ll get you some tequila. I have a decent one. It’s from Austin, Texas of all stupid places. I don’t even know where that is.”

 Ginny’s eyes lit up. “Do you mean Tito’s? I toured their distillery when I was playing for the San Antonio Missions. I went with..,” and just like that, the animation left her face and she slumped a little lower onto her stool. “Anyways. I promise I’ll respect your Cuban rum, Livan. I know it’s important to you.”

 Now Livan felt like an ass. He didn’t know what just happened to ruin her mood, but as much as he wanted to find out immediately, he decided to shelf the questions for later when she didn’t have so much to be upset about. Because her phone was buzzing like crazy in his back pocket, and he knew not all of it was about her ex. She’d already had a hard knock from the internet today and she didn’t need to find out about the All-Star vote from the anonymous trolls.

 He made a production about pulling some ice from the freezer and serving her a dark rum on the rocks. He handed her the glass and nodded to the soda. Instead of just adding a splash for flavor, she proceeded to fill the entire glass with cola and he had to grit his teeth against the urge to snatch back the rum until she could learn the right way to savor it.

 They let the silence stretch comfortably as they both sipped on their drinks, lost in thought. “So the Final Vote results are in,” he said casually. He leaned forward until his forearms rested on the granite and he cradled his glass in his hands. He raised his head to watch her, needing to read her signals to know what she might need.

 “Are they? I hadn’t heard that. If you give me back my phone I’ll probably have 50 messages from my agent, demanding I call him immediately.” She expectantly held out her hand, wiggling her fingers impatiently when he didn’t immediately return her phone.

 “You didn’t get voted in.”

 Ginny’s eyes widened for a second before she gave a shrug and looked away. “Well, it’s the fans’ choice, so I’m sure whoever they picked deserved it.” Her tone was casual and would have fooled anyone except a few select people. Unfortunately for her, he was one of them.

 “I’m mad as hell,” he told her. “I don’t know why you wouldn’t be.”

 That brought her eyes back to his. “Why are you mad? Because you didn’t get selected in the fan vote?”

 He made a dismissive sound. “No. The fans vote for their own team. That I understand.”

 “So, what then?”

 “Why did the stupid Dodger’s manager pick Lawson over me?” He watched her face soften in sympathy as she looked at him, and it drove his anger through the roof. The last thing he wanted was pity. “I’m the better catcher! My batting average is better. My OPS is better. My throw out percentages are better,” he yelled, slapping the countertop with both hands before walking away.

 “You’re still a part time catcher. That will always count against you, fairly or not.”

 He hated the logic of that, hated the she seemed so in control when he wasn’t. He whirled around and kept walking until he was a foot away from her bar stool. “Why aren’t you angry,” he prodded. “You should be even more angry, after everything that’s happened.”

 Later, when he calmed down, he’d feel bad about pouring salt on what was probably an open wound. But at that moment, he wanted her to be as upset as he was. No, she already was that angry. He just wanted her to _admit_ it, to at least be honest with him if no one else.

 “What do I have to be angry about? I mean, just because my boyfriend cheated on me and it’s all over the internet, and just because the fans that loved me last year obviously don’t love me this year, and neither does the guy who promised he did by the way, and just because I missed my turn in the rotation tonight because of you, and even though it sounds pathetic I’m so embarrassed I want to hide from those pictures of him, but so angry I want to scream..,” she abruptly stopped, the echo of her shouts fading quickly.

 Livan gulped down the last swallow of his rum and moved back to the island to pour himself more. This time he didn’t stop until his glass was two thirds full. Ginny silently held hers out and he obligingly filled hers up, so at least now it was equal parts rum and cola.

 “Yeah, because of that,” he murmured. Without saying another word, he grabbed a bottle of rum and left the kitchen, trusting that she would follow. It was going to be a long night. They might as well be comfortable while they railed against the world.

 Her hand slid into his back pocket and she liberated her cell phone from his jeans. “How many,” he asked as he pushed stepped down into his sunken living room.

 “Fifty-six,” Ginny told him, not needing him to clarify.

 “And?”

 With a huff, she gave in, albeit grudgingly. “Seventeen.”

 Livan flopped onto the luxurious sofa, taking great care not to spill a precious drop of rum. “Hmm, that might be some sort of senior citizen record,” he mused.

 Ginny rolled her eyes. “You’re not surprised that I have fifty-six texts in the twenty minutes I’ve been here, but you’re surprised that a thirty-six year old adult can text seventeen times?”

 “You know it sounds ridiculous for you to brag about being so popular with all of your texts, right,” he asked.

 Instead of rising to the bait, Ginny smacked his arm off the back of the sofa and lowered herself down, her eyes on her phone as she rapidly texted with one thumb while sipping out of the glass held in her other hand. Livan was reluctantly impressed with her dexterity.

 He grabbed the television remote and wiggled a little lower on the sofa until he could prop his feet up on the coffee table. By the time Ginny was done replying to all of the texts and having one very brief group call between Elliott, her agent and herself, Livan had already started the movie. And by the time she had gone back to the kitchen to grab snacks, made a visit to the bathroom to change into a pair of his sweatpants for reasons he didn’t even ask, answered a call from MIke, and then raided his spare bedroom for a blanket because she was cold, he was thirty minutes into the movie.

 “You started without me! You have to go back to the  beginning.”

 “No. That’s what happens when you take forever. Besides, you’ve seen it before.”

 “It’s the type of movie that you have to watch beginning to end to get the full effect,” she warned. Then before he knew what was happening, she reached over and hit a button on the remote to restart the movie from the beginning.

 “You are such a diva. You won’t always get your way, you know,” he grouched at her.

 “Believe me, I know. Especially right now,” she said in a small voice.

 Livan gave in to the inevitable with a sigh. He raised his arm and Ginny immediately moved over to settle against his side. He pulled the blanket up a little higher for her, then settled back once again. Yeah, he was still annoyed with her, very annoyed actually, but he wasn’t going to kick her when she was down. He’d wait until she felt better to plot some payback.

  


*****************

 

“I can’t believe you just spent $20,000 on this.”

 “Well, I can’t believe you just spent $2500 renting out an entire farm,” he retorted.

 Ginny didn’t bother opening her eyes to respond. “I didn’t rent an entire...you know what, never mind. Thank you for the private jet ride. It was definitely the best drunk purchase ever.”

 “Yeah, as far as drunk roadtrips go, this isn’t so bad,” he agreed, his voice rough from a combination of exhaustion and a long night of drinking. “I mean, I’ve been sober for almost six hours now and I still don’t regret it. Yet.”

 She rolled over to lay on his stomach, hoping the change in positions would ease the headache and nausea that was an unfortunate consequence of last night. She finally cracked her eyes open to stare across the room at Livan, who was stretched out on the other sofa. “So have you forgiven me for _A League of Their Own_?”

 He scowled at her. “No. You owe me a lot more than a roadtrip to make up for that emotional trauma. You could have at least supplied Puffs. My nose is still sore from having to use toilet paper.”

 Ginny winced at his accusation. Yes, she definitely should have warned him. But still, how could she have known it would remind him of his _abuela_ and the stories she told from when she was a professional pitcher in Cuba?

 “Well, we have three days off for the first time since January, and I intend to enjoy every second of them.”

 It was annoying how Livan could raise an eyebrow even with the side of his face plastered against the sofa cushions. “Exactly how do you intend to enjoy them? Do you have any big, exciting plans you’d like to share with me because as far as I know, all we’ve done is stick ourselves in the middle of nowhere for three days.”

 “Quit whining. We’ll find things to do. Besides, if I remember right, one of the things you wanted most was to get away from all the noise and just relax. You wanted to avoid all the attention and groupies and media for a few days.”

 “There is absolutely no way I said I wanted to avoid the groupies, no matter how much alcohol I drank.”

 “Hmm, maybe that was me. It’s all a little fuzzy,” she admitted. “I’m pretty sure we wanted to avoid groupies, though.”

 “No, I wanted to avoid _your_ groupies,” Livan corrected, pushing himself upright with a groan. “It’s hard to watch grown men embarrass themselves to get your attention. It’s awkward even with your female groupies anymore.”

 “At least my groupies don’t walk up to me and immediately put their hands in my pockets,” Ginny felt obligated to point out, although she had to agree that her fans could make things very uncomfortable.

 “Only because the video of you punching a guy out for grabbing your ass went viral. No one is stupid enough to try it now, especially after the moron couldn’t even find a lawyer willing to sue you over it.” A sudden grin crossed his face, highlight his dimples. “I’ve never seen so many guys so willing to fight, but having to settle on letting a woman do it for them.”

 Ginny tried to figure out if there was an insult in his statement, but decided to take it at face value. “I don’t need anyone to fight my battles for me,” she told him, almost by rote at this point in her life. “Still, it felt great to punch him,” she admitted.

 “Mr. Duarte and Ms. Baker, we are beginning our descent,” the co-pilot told them from the doorway leading to the cockpit. “If you would buckle up voluntarily this time, we can arrive more quickly than we departed.” Despite the diplomatic words, the tone was all disapproving mother. In fact, the middle aged woman was looking at Livan with an expression that dared him to try her. He met her gaze for only a few seconds, before he begrudgingly reached for the seatbelt, looking so much like a pouting child that Ginny snorted while trying to suppress her laughter. The co-pilot shot Ginny a wink as she moved back to the cockpit, pulling the privacy curtain shut behind her. Ginny had to keep her eyes firmly focused out the window until the plane landed because she knew if she so much as looked at Livan and saw him still pouting she’d laugh for hours.

 “Where is the rest of the airport,” Livan asked Ginny as she followed him off the plane. She quickly slipped the pilot and co-pilot a hefty tip on her way out because, after the way Livan acted and how late she and Livan had been even getting to the plane in San Diego, they would be lucky if the pilots decided to pick them up for the return trip.

 “Hey, there’s a building,” she pointed out.

 Livan turned towards her and she could just imagine the glare hidden behind his sunglasses. “That’s a hanger.”

 “Fine,” Ginny sighed. “Well, we’re not going to be here for long anyways. Where did you arrange to meet the rental car?”

 Livan swiped at his phone screen, quickly tapping away as they moved towards the airport’s only driveway. “I’m waiting for a driver to pick up my request.”

 Ginny gaped at him, stunned at his idiocy. “Livan. Tell me you rented a car.”

 “No, I figured we’d Uber. We always do that.” He shook his phone and lifted it in the air. “I think the app froze. I don’t see any drivers in the area.”

 Ginny’s hand ached, actually ached, to smack the stupid out of him. “We’re in the middle of nowhere, you moron! There are no Ubers!”

 Livan didn’t even look up. “Of course there are. There are Ubers everywhere.”

 It took him five minutes to catch up to where Ginny was still storming down the driveway. “Fine, no Uber. We’ll take the jet back to San Diego and pretend this never happened.”

 Ginny didn’t bother looking at him. She stopped where the paved driveway met a gravel road and dropped her duffle bag at her feet. “I got us a ride.”

 “How? No cars exist out here.”

 She gritted her teeth, trying to calm her temper. “I called the owner of the B&B we’re staying at and she was willing to come get us.”

 Livan gave a shrug. “As long as I’m not stuck out here for three days, I’m good. I’d take a ride from a serial killer right now. This sunlight is killing my head.”

  


**************************

 

They had been there less than 24 hours and he was ready to strangle her.

 It should have been an easy ride to the field in the car they borrowed from the B&B owner. But the trip that should have taken fifteen minutes took nearly forty-five minutes all because the stupid people that designed the stupid roads in Iowa were too lazy to put up stupid street signs and directions, and anything else that would help out-of-towners know where to turn in the midst of all the corn, soybeans, and farm houses. And of course the stupid cell phone companies wouldn’t put up stupid cell phone towers so they could use their phones for directions. It didn’t help his mood when Ginny had nearly jumped out of the car to ask for directions when they happened upon a couple of teens riding bikes on the gravel road. He did have to begrudgingly admit that it took toughness to bike on rough surfaces, so he did give the kids credit for that. But he still seriously resented the smirks that they tried to hide when they saw him glaring at Ginny for asking for directions in the first place.

 “You can’t seriously be angry I asked for directions. You’re manly pride isn’t that fragile, is it?”

 Livan had to grit his teeth to keep from shouting at her. Again. “My manly everything is just fine. I’m angry because you kept me up all damn night talking to Lawson.”

 “You wouldn’t have heard me if you hadn’t been up all night sexting your booty calls.”

 “Number one, it was only one booty call. Number two, you laugh so loudly that the neighbors probably heard you and they’re three miles away,” he added. “Why was he calling you when he should have been out celebrating? Is he too old to go to a bar and pick up a woman?”

 “Do you really want to spend today arguing about Lawson? It’s almost like you’re obsessed with him.”

 Livan swung his head around to glare at her and nearly put them in a ditch. Why did they not have shoulders on these two lane roads? “I’m not obsessed with Lawson,” he scoffed. “I just want to spend at least a couple of hours without him blowing up your phone or you talking about him.”

 Ginny rolled her eyes but let it go. “Turn left here,” she instructed. Two minutes later, Livan rolled their borrowed Buick to a stop.

 “I love this car,”  Livan said as he stepped out of the car and moved to the trunk.

 “I know,” Ginny said dryly. “You bounced in the seat half of the way from the airport to the farm, told Mrs. Bessman it was like a sofa, and then two minutes later announced that you could have a lot of fun in a Buick’s backseat.”

 “It’s true,” Livan shrugged, not at all repentant.He grabbed his baseball bag from the trunk and handed Ginny hers.

 “Do you think she knows who we are,” Ginny asked as they walked the short distance to the field.

 “I don’t think so. I don’t know how she wouldn’t recognize us, but maybe her satellite dish doesn’t pick up baseball?”

 They were silent for a moment as they stopped at the foul line to took in the view. “It’s kind of nice, isn’t it?”

 “It’s better than nice,” he told her, feeling absurdly protective of the field. After all, he had spent a small fortune to get a chance to get them there. “It looks just like the movie. I didn’t think it would be this green.”

 “I don’t mean the field. I meant having someone not know who we are.” She took in a long breath. “But yeah, it looks just like the movie.”

 Livan dropped his bag in left field and dug out his glove. “I don’t know, I like being recognized,” he said. “It usually means I get whatever I want.”

 Ginny was silent for a long minute and Livan turned to watch her. Her eyes were locked on the corn behind centerfield and she looked wistful. “I think it’s nice. I like not having people recording me constantly. It’s like I have a second to breathe my own air.”

 “Yeah, I get that,” Livan admitted in a moment of honesty. “It’s nice to not be on stage on the time.” He shook his head, breaking the introspective spell of the field. “Are you sure you should be throwing? What did Ed say?”

 Ginny grabbed her mitt from the bag and immediately started moving towards centerfield. “I’m fine”, she threw out over her shoulder.

 Her words triggered alarms in his brain. She wasn’t telling him something. “What do you mean, you’re fine? Did the med staff clear you,” he asked suspiciously.

 She stopped thirty feet away from him and slipped her mitt over her hand. “I was never hurt.” She lobbed the ball at him, keeping the toss soft until her arm warmed up.

 Livan caught the ball and tossed it back. “What do you mean you weren’t hurt?”

 “I mean I was never hurt. I just faked it to get Ed to come out and check on you.” She tossed the ball back to him and he caught it in his mitt with a snap. He started walking towards her, feeling some gratification when she immediately started backing up, matching him step for step.

 “You faked it? Really? You’re telling me you faked being hurt, scaring the hell out of me by the way, all because you were worried I had a headache?” It was a good thing they were the only people on the field, because he was shouting at her by the time he was done.

 She stopped retreating and waited for him in center. They were nearly toe to toe before she answered. “You didn’t have a headache, you had a concussion. That’s about as serious as it gets, you jerk. And you want to talk about being scared? All I could think of was you getting carted off the field with a permanent brain injury because you were too macho to ask for help. So yes, I lied to you.”

 That rocked Livan back on his heels and cooled his anger. It never occurred to him that she would have worried about him. He could count on one hand the number of people that he had met in baseball that would have been legitimately worried about him.  “That was bush league,” he muttered, suddenly uncomfortable.

 Ginny rolled her eyes at him. “Well if it makes you feel better, I did miss a start because of you.”

 “No you didn’t,” he disagreed, not afraid to call her on her bullshit. “You missed it because the team had a day off and it fell on your day in the rotation.”

 “You could at least pretend to be sympathetic,” she grumbled as she paced backwards and once again lobbed the ball at him.

 “If you expect sympathy from me, you’re going to be waiting a long time,” he told her.

 Her laughter reached him across the grass separating them and he had to bit the inside of his cheek to contain his smile. There was no need to encourage her. Still, it was great to see her laugh, genuinely unabashedly laugh in the way that she had, for the first time in days. And he had no doubt that his disabling all notifications on her phone helped because, between that and the spotty cell reception, she had no way to know that the internet was still blowing up, this time on her behalf. She needed this break and he would do anything, even coming all the way to Iowa, to make sure she got it. She deserved it. And so did he because if she actually cried over this mess he was going to have to go back to Cuba, because there was no way he could hide the bodies of the musician and all those internet trolls from the cops.

  


***************************************

 

“Wake up. Now.”

 Livan groaned and covered his face with a pillow. “Why the hell are you in my room?”

 “I’m bored. You said you’d wake up early with me, so get up.”

 “Get out. Go be bored and pathetic somewhere else.”

 Ginny snatched the pillow off his face and hit him with it. “I’m not the pathetic one still in bed at eight in the morning.”

 He cracked an eyelid open. “Mami, you do not get to come into my room and insult me. Well, unless you are in bed next to me.” He stopped to consider. “No, you can’t insult me even then. Go away.”

 Her laughter brought a reluctant smile to his face. “I don’t need your permission to insult you, Livan. Now get up!”

 He heaved a dramatic sigh and sat up, not bothering to hide his bare chest. “Fine, I’m awake. Now if you want to see how up I really am, you can stick around while I get dressed. Otherwise..,” he let the statement hang, knowing what her reaction would be.

 She rolled her eyes at his innuendo but obligingly headed towards the door. “It’s not like I haven’t seen everything you have. You barely cover up when you’re in the locker room. Besides,” she added, throwing a look over her shoulder. “I’ve seen better.”

 Ginny was out the door before he could untangle himself from the covers to tackle her, her laughter reaching him even through the closed door. He shook his head, torn between annoyance and amusement. She was such a little shit.

  _Seen better, my ass,_ he thought to himself. As soon as he was dressed, he was going to hunt her down and set her straight.

 But by the time he dug his clean clothes from his duffle bag, he was grinning. It looked like his road trip idea had worked. Who cared that he had lied when he told her it was a drunken impulse that he barely remembered? He had been mostly sober when he put it together. Well, half sober. He spent the money to make the trip happen, literally overnight, because he had a feeling that seeing the baseball field surrounded by tall corn and green farmland would bring everything back into perspective for her. And judging by the way she had organized random tourists into two baseball teams for an impromptu game, the way she laughed until she couldn’t catch her breath, the way she enjoyed walking out of the corn for the million and one pictures she made him take of her, he’s say he had succeeded.

  
_Damn I’m good_ , Livan thought as he left his room, already planning his revenge on the pain-in-the-ass that was his pitcher. He couldn’t let her get too cocky, after all

**Author's Note:**

> I must be crazy to start another fan fic, but here I go. I had originally planned to have this as one long story, but it evolved into a chapter story. I hope you like it.


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